Chapter 24
“Visitation’s in one hour,” a new guard said flatly, giving us and our disheveled appearances a once-over before he rapped on the door. The monitor attached to the heavy steel buzzed, then groaned open.
Inside, there were rows of bolted tables and chain-linked chairs.
Voices that were low and tense, carrying just enough to make my skin crawl.
I scanned the room, my pulse climbing as I searched for him.
Not knowing what the man looked like after all this time.
Did he still have my dirty blond hair? Were his eyes still void of fucking emotion?
Carrington leaned close, his breath brushing my ear. “Last chance. You want to walk out, we do it now. Say the word.”
I forced my feet forward. “No, I need this.”
“Then own it,” he growled. “He’s the one in chains, not you. Don’t forget that.”
I nodded, even though the knot in my stomach said otherwise.
Then I saw him.
Edmund Anderson. My father.
He was sitting at the far table, his posture regal despite the prison blue outfit, like he wasn’t a prisoner at all. Like the whole damn room bowed to him if he demanded it. His eyes locked on mine instantly, with a slow, serpentine smile curling his mouth.
My legs trembled.
Carrington’s hand pressed briefly at the small of my back, steadying me, commanding me to move forward.
“Go on,” he murmured. “Time to face your monster, Sunshine.”
Edmund was already waiting, expectant and cruel. A prison couldn’t dull him. If anything, they sharpened the edges. He sat tall, his shoulders back, his chin lifted. His dark eyes locked on me the second I stepped through the doorway.
That smile spread across his face wider, slower, and knowing. I felt heat crawl up my neck and flood my face, not fear exactly. Something heavier weighed me down, making me feel like I was sinking in sand beneath my feet.
Carrington leaned in closer, his voice low, his hand linking between my thighs, silent and commanding as he kept me upright. “Don’t shrink from him. Walk like you own the place, Shiloh.”
“I’m not shrinking,” I muttered, though my fists were so tight my knuckles burned.
“Yeah,” he said dryly. “Keep telling yourself that, Baby Boy.”
The guard led us toward the far table. My tennis shoes echoed too loudly on the tile, as each step hammered in my head. Carrington walked beside me, calm as ever, like we were just heading into a bar fight and he had front row tickets.
We stopped at the table. Edmund didn’t move at first, didn’t even blink. He just looked me over, like I was an old photo he hadn’t seen in years.
Finally, he leaned back in his chair, spread his arms wide, and clapped.
“Well,” Edmund said. His voice was smooth, almost amused. “If it isn’t my son, coming to say hello to his old man.”
The words cut straight through me, scraping bone. I clenched my jaw until it ached and dropped into one of the visitor chairs. “Don’t call me that.”
Carrington’s chair scraped as he sat down beside me, folding his arms across his chest like he was daring Edmund to make a move against me.
Edmund’s gaze slid over to him, lingering and sharp. For a moment, he looked intrigued by Carrington, but then his cruel gaze wavered back to me.
“You brought muscle,” He chuckled, low in his throat. “Cute.”
My throat went tight, but I forced the words out, keeping them steady. “I didn’t come here for games.”
“Then what?” Edmund tilted his head, eyes gleaming. “Couldn’t just be closure, right?”
“Answers,” I snapped.
His smirk widened. “Ah. About your mother?”
The sound of that word was a sucker punch to the gut. I felt Carrington’s presence beside me, silent and steady, like the solid bars that had been at my back earlier. Nothing could stop the heat crawling up my chest.
I leaned forward, my elbows braced on the table. My voice came out low, rough, and fucking raw. “I came here to look you in the eye and see what kind of man can do what you did. To her…and to me.”
Edmund’s grin turned sharp. “Finally. A little spine. Did my charming son grow up to embrace his nature after all?”
My pulse hammered, my stomach knotted, but I didn’t flinch.
Not in front of him.
Not anymore.
Edmund leaned back in his chair like he had all the time in the world. The chains on his wrists clinked softly as he folded his hands in his lap, all fucking calm and calculated.
“You’ve got her eyes,” he said, almost thoughtful. “Like a raging storm trapped behind glass, unable to ever be free.”
My jaw snapped tight. “Don’t fucking talk about her.”
“Why not?” He smiled faintly. “You came here to talk about her, didn’t you?
Or was this just for show? To prove to yourself you’re not still that trembling little boy hiding in the closet while the world burned around you?
Did it help you to think there was no way you would have known what I did?
Does it help pretending you weren’t a part of it? ”
Heat surged up my throat. I gripped the edge of the table so hard my knuckles went white and my vision blurred.
Carrington’s voice cut in, a sharp whisper beside me. “Don’t bite, Baby. Not here.”
I ground my teeth together. “I’m not fucking biting.”
Edmund chuckled. “He’s teaching you how to behave yourself? How interesting. Isn’t this Carrington Harding? The son of Reginald Harding Enterprise.”
I ignored the jab and questions. Everyone knew Carrington. I didn’t need to answer. I forced my voice to be even. “You ruined her. You ruined everything about my mother. And you sit there smiling like it’s all a funny fucking joke.”
He tilted his head. “Because it is. Look at you, Shiloh. You’ve been chasing her ghost for years. You let it rot you from the inside out. And now you’re here, finally face-to-face with me, and what do you have? Anger. Blame. Shame. Nothing new. Nothing you didn’t show at fifteen.”
I swallowed, hardening my spine. “No. I have control. I came here to see for myself that you’re nothing. Just a bitter fucking old man in chains. You want to believe you have control, but you are nothing. You can’t do anything in here but rot, waiting until all those ghosts rip your soul apart.”
His smile remained. “Chains don’t make me less in control. They just prove that I was dangerous enough to warrant being put in them. We all have chains of some form. Mine are visible, and yours aren’t, but make no mistake. You are just as much a prisoner as I am.”
The words hit like a slap in the face. My chest concaved, but I held his stare, refusing to blink.
Carrington shifted beside me, his arms crossed, his voice a low growl. “He’s not biting, old man. You’re wasting your breath with the wrong fucking bait.”
Edmund’s gaze flicked to him for the briefest second, again, lingering longer than felt comfortable, then back to me.
“Ah. So that’s why you brought him. He props you up when your legs shake. Makes you feel bigger than you are. How sad, Shiloh. Even as a grown man, you are still so small.”
“Don’t fucking twist this, or I’ll cut you the fuck down.” I snarled.
“Twist?” Edmund’s laugh was soft and cruel.
“Son, I don’t have to twist anything. You’re here because of me.
Every breath you’ve taken since she died has been because I let it happen.
I have built you. I made you what you are.
One day, you will crack and let go of the light you hide behind.
I am only sad to know I won’t see my creation when it happens. ”
The rage boiled inside me, hot and choking, but Carrington’s hand pressed against my thigh under the table, a brief, grounding touch—a silent command.
Don’t give him the win.
I forced my voice steady. “You didn’t make me. You don’t own me. You never did. You killed so many because you felt powerless and needed to take someone’s light to feel any for yourself, like you took hers. My mother’s. But you won’t fucking take mine.”
Edmund’s eyes glittered, sharp and cutting like diamonds. “We’ll see.”
He leaned back again, his gaze finally sliding back toward Carrington, and that’s when his smirk shifted as if he realized something. His smile rose, slower and more deliberate. He’d just found the thread he’d been waiting for in Carrington’s presence, but I didn’t know what…
Edmund’s smirk lingered on Carrington, but he kept his focus on me, circling like a vulture that knew its prey was already bleeding and exposed for the kill.
“You talk about not being owned,” he said slowly. “But every word out of your mouth is about me. Every fucking thought in your head, every scar you carry, it all comes back here to me.” He tapped his temple with one chained finger. “Always me. Doesn’t it, my Shiloh?”
My teeth ground together so hard my jaw ached. “You don’t get to call me that.”
“Why not?” His tone was amused, almost playful. “It’s the truth. You can spit on it all you want, but you carry my name. My name and my very blood run in your veins. You’ll never rid me of your essence. I created you in so many ways.”
I leaned forward, my voice rough. “I’d cut every drop of it out of me if I could, just to watch you wash away back to hell.”
He laughed again, low and grating, like a blade scraping across stone, digging into my skin, and carving me again.
“There it is—the fire. You sound like her when you’re angry.
Always snapping back, thinking you’re strong enough to fight me.
But you’re not her.” His gaze sharpened.
“Do you wonder if she died fighting? She was beautiful when she finally broke. Tears and pleas for her pathetic, helpless son rather than her own life. You?” He sneered. “You’re just weak.”
The words sliced through me, cold and merciless. My fists slammed down on the table before I could stop them, the sound echoing through the room. Heads turned, and a guard turned a watchful eye onto my simmering rage.
Carrington’s voice cut in again, deep and controlled. “Don’t give him the show he wants. End this, Shiloh.”
My chest heaved. My whole body shook with the need to lunge across the table, to tear that smug look off his face with my bare hands. But Carrington’s steady tone anchored me, just enough to hold me in place.
Edmund’s eyes flicked between us, that smile curling higher. He’d seen the crack. He’d tasted the blood. And now he was ready for the kill.
“Ah. You chase ghosts while sleeping with demons. How quaint.”
I looked at him, confused by his fucking riddles.
“You don’t even realize, do you?” Edmund said softly, his gaze finally dragging back to Carrington with a knowing leer. “You’re not just his crutch, Harding. This shield you chose. Using my son? You’ve always been part of this story.”